


Across the Narrow Sea - Parallel Letters

by diesis, SeeThemFlying



Series: The Narrow Sea [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-09-07 20:44:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20315749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diesis/pseuds/diesis, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeeThemFlying/pseuds/SeeThemFlying
Summary: As Jaime and Brienne unknowingly write letters to each other, those around them play matchmaker...Spin-off from the Round Robin fic "Across the Narrow Sea".





	1. Tyrion I

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written in parallel to "Across the Narrow Sea" on the jaimebrienne subreddit. It runs concurrently to the beginning of the main story, and serves to give a bit of background information to Jaime and Brienne's perspectives. It is currently much shorter than the main fic, but we may add chapters as inspiration strikes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by Clearance_Unicorn (who unfortunately does not have an AO3 account)

_To her Grace the Queen in the North, Lady of Winterfell and, all too briefly, my lady wife._

_While all too much of the correspondence between us is of dry and dusty matters of state, this letter, at least, is not. Being so, let me begin by first asking you as to your health and well-being. If I were a religious man, I would pray for both. Being as I am, I toast to both with every goblet of Arbor Gold. As the Hand of the King, though he be your brother, I cannot hope too strongly for your unmitigated success. As the man once privileged to be your husband, I do nothing else._

_I write now on a delicate matter. I urge you to read my words to their end, although I know I am about to give you cause to throw this letter into the fire. I pray you, bear with me, at least until this page is done._

_I know well that Ser Brienne is dear to you, since long before she became the Lady of Storm’s End. She is dear to me, too, although I know her little, for my brother’s sake. I know you hate him, justifiably, for what he did to your family, and most of all, for what he did to Brienne. He left her, not for our sister, but for their child: and for other, more complex reasons that I do not pretend to understand. I have never been able to love those who hurt me, only those who love me, but Jaime has always been different to me, and the more our sister hated him the more he sought to make her love him. The more he loved her, the more she hated him, and on and on the dance went._

_I am sure you wonder why I write of him, and I’m sure that in even the next breath you understand. Yes. Jaime is alive, as is my sister. My last act as the Hand of the Queen was to ensure their escape, and my first act as Hand of the King was to conceal it. They have ended up in Pentos, where they eke out a living based on Jaime teaching sword work and my sister fluttering her eyelashes at any man liable to leave his purse unattended._

_There is more, if you are still reading. My sister bore a child, not long after King’s Landing fell. A girl, with not enough resemblance to her mother for my sister to care whether she lived or died. Jaime, though, Jaime loves her, as much as a father and a mother both. Family loyalty binds them together, but now my sister breaks it, and in doing so, frees Jaime. She is eager to arrange a marriage for him, in exchange for an army to put her back on the Iron Throne – but she can be persuaded to release him for far less, I am sure._

_My brother would abide by any contract he should make, I am sure, but there is an unmarried lady we both know who would make him happy and who he would make happy, and I hope I have enough cleverness left to manoeuvre them together, although not unassisted. I can begin the dance, my lady, but I hope you will match my steps, so_ my _brother and_ your _sworn sword will find each other again._

_If you are not willing, well. I have put all my hopes in your hands, and you can tear them asunder as you will. And to be honest, my lady, if you should choose to do so, I would abide by your decision. I am clever, but you are both clever and wise._

_If you do_ not _so choose, then may I implore you to help me? I would wish my brother to be happy, and safe. That is a small request of the world, is it not?_

_I would also wish you to be happy and safe. I imagine that there is a tall, handsome Northern lad courting you, perhaps one who sings the songs of the North in a fine voice. I imagine you blush when his gaze meets yours. I imagine you think of him when the two of you are apart. I am glad of it, and I am sad, at the same time. I wish I was neither a Lannister nor a dwarf and could woo you as a man woos a woman, but that is as futile as wishing that neither fire nor ice came to Westeros, so I only wish that you may have all you want, your grace, that you may be happy, and healthy, and free._

_Tyrion Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock._

_Hand of the King._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This first letter is set before the first chapter of 'Across the Narrow Sea'


	2. Sansa I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by diesis

_To the Hand of the King of the Six Kingdoms, and Lord of Casterly Rock._

_I can see that King's Landing way has not changed too much in the last years, but neither has the northern one, so forgive me if I don't indulge in pleasantries. Just to let you know, I am safe and healthy, and I guess by your words that your wellbeing has not been compromised by your duties as Hand either._

_If I recall correctly, the last time you wrote me was four months ago, when the measles plague spread from the Riverlands to the Neck. I would rather have read again about an epidemic, or about customs fees, instead than the news I found in your letter._

_Anyway, much as I do despise your brother, I am not concerned about his survival, and I understand your plea for his sake and for your niece's._

_About the Lady of Storm's End, you are right: she is very dear to me, and I hold her and her happiness in high regard. That is why I could never agree to any deceit that would_ manoeuvre _her into doing something she does not want to do, and I am not certain that she wishes to tie herself again to a man that already made her suffer enormously._

_Last but not least, I cannot ignore that your sister is still alive and plotting against the rightful King,_ my _brother, with_ your _help._

_Therefore, your message puts me in an uncomfortable situation, and I hope you understand why I will provide my help only at some conditions._

_The first, and most important one, is that my brother must be informed - if he has not already been, or if he does not already know. The second one: your sister must not profit from any arrangement that you will be able to make, and she must_ never _come back to Westeros, but for being buried beside your ancestors after her death. The third condition is that Ser Brienne has to make her choice of her own volition. An order from the Hand of the King and her responsibilities as heir of her house might compel her to find a husband, but you will not use neither the power your role grants you, nor her great sense of duty to force her in a marriage with your brother._

_If you abide by what I ask, I might consider to help you and - should the lady decide not to accept your brother's proposal - I promise you that your niece will be welcome in the North anyway. I will be glad to accept her and raise her alongside with my children, if I ever am going to have any. My House already fostered the son of an enemy, once, and I would not be here if he had not been by my side in my darkest hours. I hasten to add that in this case the girl would be my guest, not my hostage_ \- I am not your sister.

_I might suggest, if you agree on my terms, that you burn this letter after reading it, as I tossed in the fire yours. Our further correspondence can be vague enough to be sent with a raven. I have been pleased to meet the new Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, I hope this Ser Adean is as trustworthy as he is handsome, anyway, it would look suspicious if he came too often here in Winterfell just to deliver some parchments. Besides, I know that my brother still obligates his Guard to a vow of celibacy, but chastity is quite another matter. There are at least a couple of young women in the castle that have been looking at him quite eagerly since the moment he entered the gates yesterday, and here we have already had plenty of children without a father after the Long Night._

_I don't pray the Gods for your happiness and for your safety, since you are resolute and smart enough to seek them on your own; you should know that in this we are more similar than you imagine. I await your reply._

_Sansa of the House Stark of Winterfell, Queen in the North_


	3. Sansa II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by SeeThemFlying

Due to the cold, Sansa huddled up alone in her rooms close to the fire. She knew how other ladies would choose to keep warm – in the embrace of a husband or lover – but that was not for Sansa. In her experience, men came with knives and hurt and pain more often than not. Though it was her duty to marry and provide an heir for the North, she struggled to entertain the thought that someone would touch her in that way.

_And yet… and yet…_

Brienne of Tarth was a strong woman, a bore a blade like a knight from a song. Yet even she had chosen to take a man into her bed. It would not have been one that Sansa would have picked. By all accounts, the Kingslayer was the worst of men; he had murdered a king, slept with his sister, and pushed her brother out of a tower window. Even so, Brienne had vouched for him, Brienne had saved him, Brienne had loved him. And Sansa loved Brienne and trusted her judgement. And it was for that reason, and that alone, that Sansa had consented to Tyrion’s stupid plan.

Ever since she had heard of Tyrion’s plan, she had been making Brienne her wedding clothes. It was all she could do to say thank you for everything.

_Thank you for your sword. Thank you for your protection. Thank you for your loyalty. Thank you for your love._

As Queen Sansa sat at her writing desk to compose a letter to the Lady of the Stormlands, she hoped Jaime Lannister was worthy of her.


	4. Tyrion II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by Clearance_Unicorn

Raven scrolls were limited by the strength of the bird that carried them, and so Tyrion chose his words carefully, to be as concise, as informative, and yet still as vague, as possible.

_Your Grace,_

_I understand your concerns and assure you, my king was the first to be informed, and that was on the day I became his Hand. No plot or ploy against him will succeed, and no enemy of his or yours will set foot on this side of the Narrow Sea. There is a weirwood tree now in King’s Landing’s godswood: ask him yourself if you doubt me. Night is best._

He paused, quill poised. _It’s a great pity the rest of us can’t master the knack of speaking tree-to-tree. The efficiency … I wonder if there’s some way King Brandon could serve as an intermediary …_ With a shake of his head, Tyrion dismissed the thought. It was hardly regal, even if it did work. He could just imagine King Brandon solemnly passing on the message from some knight gone to a horse fair that there was no rouncey to be had but a fair little palfrey and did his Lord want to pay the price?

_I assure you also that there is, and will be, no coercion of the lady’s choice, although I admit I did use duty as a goad to prompt her to consider_ making _one. Your offer of a home to one who may need one is generous, if unsurprising – ah, your Grace, you see, I flatter myself that I was once a good enough judge of character to see the compassion that has always defined you._

He turned to the other side of the scroll.

_I am sorry if my courier’s behaviour caused you any concern. You may not know, but his office is no longer one with a life-time commitment. I know him to be a young man of great honour and feel certain that any encouragement he gave was only that of a man thinking of a future marriage._

_I hope I parse your words correctly, and that you meant to tell me that you are most resolutely in pursuit of your own happiness. I am most pleased to hear it. Many of us bruised by life guard so carefully against future hurt we also protect ourselves against future joys, and I would grieve to think you were so._

_Your Grace, I am nearing the end of the scroll, and begin to think your suggestion of ravens was in part a wise effort to limit how maudlin I can become in one piece of correspondence. I will not tax your eyes by crossing my page._

_Tyrion, Hand of the King._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: ‘Crossing the page’ was common in times when paper, or parchment, was in short supply and expensive. It refers to the practice of filling a page and then turning it 90 degrees and writing across what was written. This way, you could fit twice as much letter on one piece of very expensive parchment or paper, and mail it for half the price once a postal system developed.


	5. Sansa III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by Clearance_Unicorn

_To the Hand of the King of the Six Kingdoms, and Lord of Casterly Rock._

_You use words as cleverly as ever. You will coerce no choice, but you do not commit to offering alternatives, either. You admit to using duty to prompt my friend, and I can guess you will drive her to the destination you desire like an animal along the slaughterhouse chute._

_I will not permit it. My friend’s happiness is more important than your plans, and should she choose, she will at least have more than one alternative to choose_ from. _I don’t ask you to ensure it, indeed I don’t trust you to. This I will manage myself._

_While I appreciate your good wishes, I can’t help but think that you would find yourself less impelled to express them in such sad terms if you refrained occasionally from wine. There are many people more deserving your pity than I – or you._

Sansa paused, quill poised above the scroll, for so long that when she lowered it the ink on the nib had dried and she had to dip it again.

_I bear you no ill will for what you did so long ago in obedience to your family’s interests, and I know you serve my brother well. However, I have been flattered, and cozened, and consoled and soothed, and yes, pitied, more than enough for one lifetime, and I wish none of that from you. My hurts, my joys, my happiness, are all my own, and only my own._

_Sansa of the House Stark of Winterfell, Queen in the North_

She turned the scroll over and wrote _Tyrion, Hand of the King_ along the edge, and then set down her quill. She rolled the scroll and sealed it. “Nyessa?”

One of her ladies looked up from her sewing. “Your grace?”

Sansa held out the scroll. “This to Maester Wolkan, for King’s Landing. And – find Ser Byron, and ask him to attend me.”


	6. Sansa IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by SeeThemFlying

“Your grace?” came Nyessa’s voice. “I’ve brought you Ser Byron.”

“Ah,” said Sansa, putting her accounts to one side. “Send him in.”

Ser Byron the Beautiful strolled into the room, perfectly living up to his soubriquet. On entering, he gave the queen a sunny smile that matched the gold of his hair and, although he bowed to her, he kept his head raised so he could hold her gaze with his violently green eyes.

He had been like this ever since she had met him at the tourney at the Gates of the Moon many years ago; charming, self-confident, attractive. Ser Byron had the ability to make women’s hearts flutter with one look, a sweet word, or a brush of the hand.

Sansa was immune to such things. She was not one to flutter.

“Your Grace,” said Ser Byron as he stood up to his full height. “You called for me?”

“Yes,” said Sansa, getting to her feet. Although she was tall herself, he was taller, and she wondered whether he even approached Brienne’s height.

_Perfect if he does, _Sansa thought.

When Sansa did not immediately explain what she had called him to her solar for, Byron pressed the issue. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

“Yes,” said Sansa again. “I have a small task for you.”

He did not say anything, but just silently observed her with those green eyes. _Lannister eyes, _thought Sansa. She had seen them in many of the Lannisters she had known over the years – Cersei and Joffrey most obviously – but Byron’s eyes held none of their cruelty. His just simply observed, with an undercurrent of calculation.

Sansa had never quite been able to plug him in to the Lannister family tree. When she had become Queen of the North, he had arrived at Winterfell as flotsam and jetsam after the war, and she had let him stay because he was good with a sword and had a witty tongue. It was then that she had first started her research and found that he had been supported by Varys for many years, before the man had been felled by one of Daenerys Targaryen’s dragons. Even so, Sansa could see him for what he was: a Lannister. She had kept him at Winterfell, feeling that keeping one’s enemies closer than one’s friends was a good strategy. In the meantime, she had written to Bran, asking what he knew. In response, she had received a typically cryptic answer.

_He has a role to play in all this. His time will come._

Sansa had wondered what Bran meant about that for three years, always trying to fit him into her plans, but it had never worked. Only when Sansa had received Tyrion’s missive had she got an inkling of what her brother might have meant: Byron was a Lannister who happened to look very much like the Kingslayer.

“I need you to go to Storm’s End to see Ser Brienne.”

Byron furrowed his brow. “Do you need me to deliver a message?”

“No, nothing like that,” said Sansa, beginning to pace back and forth. “I have recently had some intelligence that Ser Brienne is seeking a husband and the Hand of the King’s suggestion is, I believe, fairly unwise.”

“Why do you believe that, your Grace?” asked Ser Byron. Sansa did not answer. She did not want to get into the torturous history of Jaime Lannister and Brienne of Tarth here; she was not even sure she knew the full story herself.

“It is no matter,” she replied. “I wish for you to go to see Ser Brienne and pay her compliments; tell her she’s beautiful, that the sun rises and sets with her. I do not wish you to go too far, I do not want you to marry her, I just want you to make her realise she has options.”

Ser Byron narrowed his eyes. “What’s in it for me?”

And there was the rub. Even though Ser Byron was little more than a poor hedge knight, he always seemed to have money, clothes, new armour, and a fancy sword. Sansa knew he must have other means of income; a man had to support himself after all. “I’ll pay you,” said Sansa. “And surely the Stormlands will make a nice change from the frozen climes of the north?”

He seemed to consider the prospect for a moment, before saying, “of course, Your Grace. Anything you ask.”

“And one more thing,” said Sansa, sitting back at her desk. “I do not want Brienne to realise I have sent you. Find a way to make your presence at Storm’s End seem accidental.”

Ser Byron smiled. “I have other reasons to be in the Stormlands anyway, your Grace. It will all be highly fortuitous.”

Not wanting to probe, Sansa nodded. “Alright, Ser Byron. Set out when you can. Maester Wolkan will sort out payment. You may go.”

Byron gave her one more graceful bow before departing the room and, once he closed the door, Sansa continued to stare after him for a while. She was not worried. Ser Brienne was not one to give herself away for a pair of pretty eyes. It was just that the Kingslayer had wronged Brienne so grievously, that Sansa did not think Jaime Lannister should be given an easy ride.

And if Brienne wanted to take herself a handsome lover with Lannister green eyes, who was Sansa to get in her way?


	7. Tyrion III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by Clearance_Unicorn

_My dear Ser Lefford_,

Tyrion paused, and looked down at the salutation. Even with Bentbrook’s promise that no courier of his would allow the letter to fall into unintended hands, Tyrion still couldn’t risk writing, as he longed to, _my dear, beloved brother._ If this plan worked, though … perhaps there would be a chance for him to say it to Jaime’s face.

_I write to inform you that there is a lady willing to entertain your suit. I caution you once more not to reveal too soon to her your notoriety. I know the lady, and she is most certainly the sort to judge a man on his character and not his reputation, but allow her to know your character first, and your reputation later. Very much later, I suggest._

_She is the Lady of Storm’s End, and wishes you to know her, for now, only as ‘Lady B’ – so you see, you are on equal footing on the question of names. I assure you she conceals nothing to her disadvantage through this: I suspect she finds the process of hunting for a husband embarrassing. I doubt she would undertake it at all if the burden of her position were not so great, and if she did not have an obligation to provide an heir._

_It is a good match for you, and I vouch for the lady – I both like and respect her. I advise you she values honesty over flattery, so try to rein in your charm and write from your heart, which I know to be a great one. Impress upon her that you can lift some of the weight from her shoulders as regards her responsibilities, for that is her main concern._

_I know your circumstances are difficult, and there is little I can do to improve them. I cherish the hope that this match might enable you to return and we might meet again. Gods be good, I will have the opportunity to –_

Tyrion stopped, and scratched out the last sentence before he could incautiously finish it with _be an indulgent uncle once more_.

_I wish you well, and will do what I can to advance your cause. As always, remember that you can call upon me if you are in true difficulties. I will manage any awkwardness that might arise here._

_Write a fine letter to Lady B, I urge you. I think you will find much to admire in her, and I am sure she will find much to admire in you._

_With my fond regards,_

_Tyrion_


End file.
